A Little Rain
by Giggles96
Summary: Chris' thoughts before he travelled back to the past in connection with my other main story A Little Problem. Unchanged Future.


**For fans of my other story A Little Problem, consider this an apology. I promise you, I haven't given up on it, and the next chapter will be up real soon!**

**Also, to be clear, this entire thing was written in less than a day. So, don't be too harsh, 'kay?**

**P.S. I don't know how long this is going to be. I'll see how it goes. Let me know if I should continue it or if you feel there is anything I should add or you would like to read about.**

**Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.**

* * *

Cutting through the violent winds and shielding his face with one hand, he would have dashed without a second thought into the night.

Chris can picture it.

Chest heaving, hard slices of rain attacking him from all angles as they circled in the wind, running and running… Hollering desperately until his throat burned from overuse. Dark clouds hanging heavy over him, murky shadows to laugh at his great failure. A cackling thunder roaring in his ear.

He would have paused - to catch his breath. Maybe bellowed some command at his underlings. How knows, really?

Naturally, he'd panic. There's no chance he would have been thinking clearly, not now. There'd be threats, spat angrily through gritted teeth. Soaked to his skin, he'd shake off the cold as his several layers of clothing weighed he and his body temperature down. Stubborn as he is, he might even claim to be unaffected. So powerful that even the elements are mere pests, not an impediment. He is above that, and he'll repeat it so often that he'll actually believe it, too.

Nostrils flaring, he would vow to find him. And find him, he would.

Chris isn't stupid.

So, when everyone else has long ago fallen asleep, and the rain slaps down on the rooftop, this is what he thinks of. Hundreds of scenarios play out in his head of that day. Every minute detail to fret over.

Did Chris leave any traces behind? Any at all? Ever?

He escaped the clutches of his brother once. Wyatt won't make the same mistake again.

* * *

Outside, the air is crisp.

It's always cold nowadays. Too cold to deal with this shit.

His pockets aren't deep enough, but he forces his hands in to them regardless, because that is what he was born to do. Find a problem, then solve it. Even when it defies all odds. Even if everything is stacked against him.

And that is exactly what he plans to do now.

"Do you really want to do this, Chris?" his second-in-command and close friend, Riley, asks him, and it's _right there_.

If he wanted. If he really believes he can't.

He has the chance to back out.

"No," Chris answers honestly, before sighing, "But I must."

If there is one thing about himself he can say with absolute certainty, it is that he never drops out because it's easier.

"No-one is forcing you, you know," Riley says softly, attempting to reason with him. "There are other ways."

"No, there isn't. Look, I get that some of the resistance members think that this is a little crazy, but it's our only hope. Change the past, change the future. You can't dispute the logicalities of it."

Then, as Chris knew he would, Riley says what everyone is unquestionably thinking.

"Not necessarily for the better, though."

"Nothing can be worse than this, Riley," Chris says fiercely, feeling that thing that is lodged in his throat and just won't go away. "Don't you get that? There have been too many deaths. Whatever little good that has come of this, it's in the minority. And certainly isn't worth it in comparison to what has been lost."

"But then we'd never have met, bro. Neither would so many of the resistance and look how many children would never exist because of it."

"Yes, and how many kids wouldn't have to _die,_ too?"

Riley glances quickly away, then back to his friend's taut expression and pained, watery eyes, and knows exactly where this is coming from. "I'm sorry, man. This is hard on you, too. I _know_ that. We all have to make sacrifices."

Chris gives a stiff nod. "Of course," he says distractedly. "For the greater good."

With a pat on the back, Riley adds, "Just be careful, okay? Promise me you'll at least make sure you're _born_. And…" He winces, grimacing at his next words. "Don't… don't touch the little one."

Shocked, Chris directs a sharp, withering look at his friend, reverting to his customary sarcasm in anger.

"Aw, man," he says with mock disappointment. "Does that mean I can't bring my bow and arrow then? 'Cause I was really looking forward to shooting my _baby brother in the heart_."

Riley flinches at the biting tone.

"Sorry. It just… needed to be said."

"Uh…no. It didn't. What do you take me for? He's my brother. An innocent _kid_. I'd never hurt him."

"Don't take it personally, Chris. It's just that I know a lot of people who would feel differently. You can't blame me for wanting to make sure."

Chris exhales, running his fingers through his messy hair and taking a step back.

"Whatever, Riley," he says dismissively, shrugging casually. "I leave tomorrow. Come find me if you feel the need to warn me not to get attached to my dead mother, too."

* * *

There isn't anyone to say goodbye to.

It's pretty cowardly, to be honest. Chris knows tons of people who would love nothing more than to kiss him on the cheek and send him on his way, but that's not how he does things. He's not a social kind of guy by anyone's standards, and remaining detached, composed and pragmatic is of the utmost importance in a world where emotions are your biggest weakness and the ones you love will weigh you down and whose probable loss can shatter your life in an instant if you let it.

Death is everywhere.

There's no way to avoid it.

But Chris will be damned if he'll become so exposed and distracted as to let it destroy him.

* * *

There was this thing his mother used to say, and for some reason, the phrase has never left him.

_"A smile is the light in the window of your face that tells others your heart is at home."_

She said his smile could light an entire room, which is funny. Because after she passed on, there never seemed to be a reason to smile anymore. And all of the light in the world seemed to go with her.

Since joining the resistance, Chris has been mistaken for a man twice his age more times than he could count and is often the butt of many jokes concerning his unparalleled seriousness and neuroticism. It's something that he shrugged off and didn't pay much heed to. It was irrelevant to his mission and therefore, did not warrant any thought.

But there are times when he feels somewhat sad about what could have been, and the fact that sometimes when he gets lost in all his numb, secluded thinking, making observations but reserving any feeling, it is as if he is not quite a person, not quite in the room like all of the rest. But rather, he's a presence without an included body, a voice without a sound or even a mind in which nothing or no-one will ever be able to touch.

It's not what his mother would have wanted for him.

And if she were here, she would tell him that perhaps what he is doing isn't what one would call living at all.

* * *

Lying in bed that night with the moonlight pouring in, Chris' mind drifts as usual. But, taking him by surprise, his thoughts head in a completely unexpected direction…

* * *

"How many times do I have to apologise?"

"I dunno. How long are you going to insist that I need a babysitter?"

Wyatt rolls his eyes, having predicted the gibe almost to the exact wording. "Here, I brought you some blueberry muffins." He tosses them onto his lap. "Your favourite."

"Sucking up to me, are you? Didn't think you had it in you. And is that what passes as a strategy to get people on side these days? Offering some crappy food?" Chris nods, thoughtful. "I'm impressed. Starve the people, almost to the point of death. Then, voila, they'll be so thankful for some stale bread and butter that they'll do anything to repay you for showing them some half-assed act of kindness. Nice one."

"I see your ability for sarcasm is still intact."

"Of course. I've been practising. All this time alone with those guards was a blessing, really. Has allowed me to expand on my social skills and accumulate some pretty hilarious comebacks to all of that bullshit your people spout about there being no good or evil and all that. You did a really good job with the brainwashing, by the way. Almost had _me_ convinced." He pauses, flashes a devious smile. "Well, I mean, you _would_ if I weren't so opposed to killing innocents and if I were so pathetic that I based all of my life's ambitions on obtaining some spot below some other power-hungry madman on this surprisingly complicated hierarchy."

"Oh, trust me, Chris. You chose the right side, and you'd be ruling like a king."

"Except I have no interest in destroying people's lives for personal gain. See, that's one little detail you persistently fail to mention."

"Those people were _weak_," Wyatt snarls.

"Sure," Chris replies casually, lounging against the wall and crossing his arms. "Whatever you say. Your self-denial is truly astounding, I must say. I wish I could lie to myself like that. I'm so jealous of your self-discipline."

His brother glowers at him from the opposite end of the room. Then he takes one very deliberate step forward and grins patronisingly. "You're right. Your snide remarks have really improved. Unfortunately, little brother, I'm not feeling so lenient at the moment. You should be careful what you say to me." His smile broadens, before he feigns a confused expression as though chewing over the notion. "I'm guessing you _wouldn't_ want to be hauled up in this room for a few more days? Or do enjoy the restrictions? I think we all know you're better off in this nice, cosy, little bedroom where I can keep an eye on you anyway."

Enraged, Chris snaps, "Don't you dare lock me in here again! It's been two Goddamn weeks and I am bored out of my freaking mind! I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Just let me out of here!"

"Hmm… I don't think so. With you safe and being taken care of, I can focus my energy on other things again. It's really a weight off my shoulders, that's for sure, now that you're not running off and trying to _protect people _and _save the world_. You know, all that feeling sorry for others rubbish. It leaves you open. An easy target, per se."

His face blanches and Chris swallows hard. "Wyatt, don't. I-I can't take this. It's driving me crazy!"

"Good. My objectives are nuts, right? Isn't that what you're always saying? I think some insanity can benefit us all."

"No!" He lunges forward for the exit. It's not long before hands are around his arms and holding him down. "No! Don't do this! I'm _sorry_, okay? Wyatt, please!" The grip tightens. "No! _No!" _He's kicking and thrashing, hardly coherent as he tries so desperately to get away. "You can't do this!"

But the door has already shut and locked.

Because Wyatt could do it. And he did. For eight whole months, he shut that door and, in his twisted mind, in the name of Chris' wellbeing and protection, he did.

* * *

**Thanks for reading.**


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